


Confessions of Aromantic Nature

by Mossyrock



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [20]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Tries (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossyrock/pseuds/Mossyrock
Summary: Crowley finally confesses his love for Aziraphale. When Aziraphale tells him he loves him too, Crowley thinks all his dreams have finally come true.Only, it's not that simple.For my Ineffable Husbands bingo prompt - Aromantic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476251
Comments: 33
Kudos: 98





	Confessions of Aromantic Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not aromantic. I did debate even writing this, because I don't want to get it wrong. I researched, but please, please, please tell me if I seriously messed up anywhere. Ok?

“I love you, angel,” Crowley confessed, looking at him so softly, so openly, so vulnerable. So utterly beautiful. 

“I love you too, my dear,” Aziraphale paused, mouth still open, but the end of the sentence wasn’t forthcoming. He didn’t know how to explain his feelings, especially in a way that wouldn’t hurt Crowley. It wasn’t personal, but how could he possibly explain that? He was torn and unsure what to say or do. 

Crowley didn’t notice though. He’d already rushed towards Aziraphale to take him into his arms. But Aziraphale’s hands on his chest stopped him. The ecstatic smile faded from Crowley’s face. He wasn’t hurt yet, just confused. He looked at Aziraphale for an answer. 

An answer he couldn’t give. 

“I do love you, Crowley. But I can’t... I don’t love you like that.” 

Crowley’s demeanour changed. His entire body became expressionless, like a wax work at a museum. 

“Like what?” He asked, tone carefully neutral.

Aziraphale knew Crowley’s every expression. He knew the uncertainty and pain beneath it, no matter how hard Crowley was struggling to hide it. 

But he couldn't lie to him. 

“Romantically,” Aziraphale answered. His voice carried the weight of regret, but Crowley didn’t hear it, too busy backing away and rebuilding his walls.

Aziraphale held out a hand to stop him, but Crowley dodged it. 

“Sorry, then. My mistake.” He turned and despite Aziraphale’s frantic protests, he left, the door slamming behind him as a full stop on the conversation. 

Aziraphale didn’t follow him. There was no point chasing him around the busy London streets, only to catch him and say what?

He loved him. He did. Why was it so hard then? 

* * *

Crowley didn’t return. Aziraphale waited. They’d scheduled lunch for the next day at a new restaurant, but Crowley didn’t appear.

Aziraphale didn’t blame him. He gave him time and space to come around. 

But time dragged on and still Crowley didn’t come back to him. 

Aziraphale’s heart was breaking, just as surely as he knew that Crowley’s was. It hurt. He couldn’t let himself imagine that this was the end for them. Not after everything they’d been through.

But nothing would be fixed if they didn’t at least talk. And surely nothing could make it worse. The worst thing Aziraphale could imagine was hurting Crowley, but he already had. Now, he needed to try mend it. 

He picked up the phone. It rang and rang endlessly before Crowley’s voicemail message was talking in his ear. It didn’t surprise him, but it still stung. The beep sounded and he knew he had to speak, but he hadn’t prepared anything to say. He’d mentally written and discarded a million options. None accurately conveyed how he felt. None would take the words back or make it better. 

He just needed to say whatever came into his mind and hope for the best. He would be wringing his hands together if he didn’t have a phone clutched tightly in his right. He tangled the fingers from his left hand in the cord nervously as he began rambling. 

“Crowley, my dear. Please pick up.” He waited. When no voice answered, he kept talking, getting more desperate as the seconds ticked by. 

“I’m sorry. I do love you.” Still nothing. 

“Please, let me explain.” He heard a rustling, signifying that someone had picked up. But his sigh of relief was interrupted. 

“Go ahead then, angel. Explain.” His words were short and sharp and Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. 

“I...” He still didn’t know what to say. 

“Yes? I’m waiting.” His voice was cutting, and it wounded Aziraphale to hear it directed at him. They’d argued countless times throughout the millennia, over all manner of things, but this was different. This was personal and all Aziraphale’s fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“Let me do this in person?” He asked. It bordered on begging, but he didn’t have any pride left to lose. He just needed Crowley to understand. 

“Fine. Come over.” He didn’t sound happy about it. 

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. He had hoped that Crowley would come back to the bookshop. It wasn’t that Aziraphale hated Crowley’s apartment, it just wasn’t to his taste. And he’d wanted to do this somewhere safe and familiar. But if Crowley was willing to hear him out, he would move Heaven and Earth to make it happen. Not literally, of course, but whatever Aziraphale could give him, it was his. 

Except everything the demon wanted from him. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

Aziraphale appeared outside of Crowley’s flat a moment and one miracle later and hesitated at the door. But he didn’t have long to contemplate, because the door swung open of its own accord. 

“Are you coming in or not?” Crowley yelled impatiently from somewhere inside.

Aziraphale took a breath and entered, gingerly closing the door behind himself. 

“Where are you?” He asked, the question echoing through the apartment. 

“In here.”

Aziraphale followed his voice into the study. Crowley was sat on his throne, feet up on the desk. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he’d have assumed he was at ease. But his entire body was too rigid, betraying his anxiety. His hands were clasped together in his lap, knuckles white. 

Aziraphale miracled himself an identical armchair to the one in the shop – something warm and familiar to help sooth the nerves – and sat beside him. Within arms reach, but not crowding him. 

Aziraphale wanted to reach out, but he couldn’t. 

“Yes?” Crowley asked. He was staring at Aziraphale from behind his glasses, trying to read him, Aziraphale could feel it. 

“Crowley, you need to promise to listen to me. Please don’t interrupt me or take what I’m about to say the wrong way. Just be patient, alright? Please?” 

Crowley shrugged, which Aziraphale took as a good a sign as any. It was likely the best he was going to get. 

“As an angel, I was built to love. To love God, above all. But also, to love all living creatures. Great and small.” 

Crowley was still listening, but Aziraphale could tell he was not happy. Aziraphale could almost hear him thinking ' _hurry up, angel_ '. Thankfully though, he didn’t interject or even move. He wasn't even breathing. 

“Love is everything to me. It fills me. I feel love for music, books, people, animals... Everything,” He paused again, “But angels weren’t built for romantic love. I don’t know how to love like that. It’s just not in my nature. It’s not who I am.” 

Crowley opened his mouth, but Aziraphale cut him off, holding up a hand and continuing. 

“I love you, my dear. Like I love the sunshine, like a slice of delicious cake, like the dearest friend I could ever have, because you are. But my love for you isn’t about kissing, or romantic gifts, or cuddling.” 

“But you read sappy poetry and romantic plays all the time!” He finally exclaimed. 

“I do. I live vicariously through them. I have tried to feel those things, the things that millions of authors have sought to capture. But I can’t.” And he didn't exactly regret that. He just wondered what it felt like.

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

Aziraphale looked away from the demon, trying to collect himself. They were both getting worked up. He took a few deep breaths and turned back to Crowley. 

“I am, what the human’s these days call ‘aromantic’.”

He had been doing some research. Words and labels could sometimes be useful. Sometimes they were harmful, but in this case, having a word to explain to Crowley was a relief. He’d absorbed all the information he could on the subject. It had comforted him to know that he wasn’t alone, even if it was slightly different for an immortal being made to love all things than it was for humans. 

Crowley tilted his head, puzzled. 

“Ok... So, you don’t like romance?” He asked, clearly annoyed, but he was still there and giving Aziraphale the room to speak. Aziraphale felt a rush of gratitude. 

“Yes and no. It’s not that I don’t like it, exactly. There are some things I’m comfortable with and enjoy. I enjoy your company. I am more than happy to show my deep love and friendship for you by going to dinner and holding hands. But I don’t feel anything like the books describe when they talk about love. I don’t feel the desire to kiss you... Not that I’d necessarily be opposed to it,” He rushed to clarify. 

Aziraphale hadn’t exactly tested the limits of where he felt comfortable in his physical and emotional boundaries, having never had anyone to test with – besides Crowley.

He had been fine with touching Crowley. Holding hands with him had been as much a sign of friendship as anything else. It had felt nice, so Aziraphale had hope that he wouldn’t feel nothing by touching him in other ways. The idea didn’t repulse him, but he'd never tried it. 

And either way, he knew he wouldn’t feel what Crowley wanted him to. What Crowley clearly felt for him. He didn't know if God had built Crowley differently or if Falling had changed him, but Crowley obviously desired romance. At least a little. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t feel what you want me to feel. But my love for you is real, even if it is only a deep friendship. The deepest friendship. It's not a lesser love. It's just... different.” Again, he longed to reach out, but he didn’t know how either of them would feel about it, so he kept his hands in his own lap. 

Crowley wasn’t looking at him, simply staring out the window. Aziraphale sighed. He might have just completely messed up the best relationship of his existence. But he’d had to be honest. He couldn’t make himself feel something he didn’t, and he couldn’t lie to Crowley. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” He asked. 

Crowley sighed and nodded, but Aziraphale knew that it wasn’t over. Crowley needed space and time to mull this over and decide what he wanted from their relationship, now that he knew. 

“I’ll go now. I’m sorry.” He stood and Crowley’s head whipped back to look at him. He looked dazed and confused, worse than when Aziraphale had started his explanation. When no protest was made, he turned and left. 

He wouldn’t cry. 

* * *

It took Crowley a week. A week of scouring the internet, Googling and reading blogs, watching videos, listening to songs. It was hard work, putting himself in the shoes of the angel and every human who identified as aromantic or grey-romantic. But he did it, because he’d be damned if he would let Aziraphale go now.

He'd been damned once. He didn't want to do it again. 

He needed to know what was acceptable to the angel – regarding touch, gestures and words –without stepping over any lines or accidentally making him uncomfortable. 

All the research led him to being both more confused and reassured. It was a common thing that people experienced. While it might be different for Aziraphale – being an angel and all – it helped him understand how it felt for those who identified that way. He still wasn’t 100% sure how it worked, but if Aziraphale needed him to accept him, accept him he would. They’d been through so much, what was one little thing like this?

He'd fallen in love with Aziraphale – all of him. And this was part of him. 

He knocked on the bookshop door. He would usually let himself in with a courtesy yelled greeting, but after everything, he wanted to give Aziraphale the option to turn him away. It might hurt, but he needed to give him the option. 

And he needed to apologise. He’d assumed that his confession of love had been unconditionally reciprocated and that might’ve caused Aziraphale pain, even if he hadn't meant it to. Assumptions could hurt. 

Then he’d been so rude to Aziraphale while he'd tried to explain his feelings. He'd been impatient and dismissive. Crowley was ashamed of how he’d acted, and he was ready to make it up to him. 

They would move forward, slowly and totally at Aziraphale’s pace, if he was willing to give Crowley another chance. It would be an adjustment, but Crowley loved him enough to try. 

He adjusted his new scarf as he waited for Aziraphale to answer the door. 

“Oh! Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale greeted with a smile.

Crowley breathed out the tension he hadn’t even known he had. His angel didn’t hate him. It was a start. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course!” He answered, letting him in. Crowley had missed him and the shop in the time he’d been gone. Being back felt like such a relief. 

They made their way to the back of the shop in silence. Crowley summoned a bottle of wine and wordlessly offered the angel some. He nodded and Crowley passed over a newly conjured and poured glass. 

“I like your new scarf. It's rather nifty,” Aziraphale commented, nodding at the green, black, grey and white knitted scarf. 

“I was hoping you’d like it,” He admitted, idly playing with it, twining it around his hands and wringing it. 

“Why green?” 

It was a fair question, since any colour was a rarity for the demon. 

“It’s the aromantic flag colours.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale seemed exceedingly pleased by the gesture. His shy little smile made Crowley’s heart surge with love and happiness. 

“It is. I’ve been looking up some stuff,” More like obsessively pouring over every piece of information he could find, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that, “And this whole aromantic thing seems interesting.”

“It does?” Aziraphale was looking at him with a knowing smile, as if he could see right through him. Like he knew that Crowley hadn’t eaten or slept since they’d last seen each other. Like he knew he’d only been reading and learning. Crowley bristled at that. He had a reputation to uphold. 

But the angel knew him better than that, the bastard. 

“Yeah, and so, if you want, I could be your queerplatonic partner. Or friends with benefits. Whatever.” He shrugged, as if he hadn’t put his heart on the line again. 

“I’d like that.” He gave Crowley one of his biggest, brightest smiles. 

“Great. Wonderful,” He smiled, before remembering himself and his pledge to take things slow, “I mean, alright.” He tried to act nonchalant, but at Aziraphale’s indulgent grin, he knew he’d failed. 

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale parroted. He leant over and took Crowley’s hand. It was warm and comforting.

They had the rest of forever together, in whatever capacity. And they would be happy, because they loved each other. They'd work out the rest together.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't specify whether Aziraphale is also ace, but he might be. I imagine him as aro/ace, but if you want to see it differently, feel free. 
> 
> Like I said, I'm not aro, but I'm doing my best. Everyone's experiences are different. And feelings are hard to describe. 
> 
> I'm usually shy about concrit, but in this case, please hollar if I'm wrong.


End file.
